


Tonight We're the Sea and the Salty Breeze

by aubades



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Disgruntled Fisherman Samothes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Folklore, M/M, Modern-ish setting, Selkie AU, Selkie Samot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 16:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubades/pseuds/aubades
Summary: Samothes is the town fisherman and all-around handyman, content to live alone in his cottage by the sea. However, one night more than just a storm rolls in, and Samothes must deal with an angry selkie on his doorstep.





	Tonight We're the Sea and the Salty Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Much love and many thanks to imperialhare for letting me steal their AU idea, as well as cheering me on along with Suedeuxnim! So grateful for you two. :)
> 
> This fic will EVENTUALLY earn its explicit rating, but not for a little bit!
> 
> (Title taken from the Sea and the Rhythm by Iron & Wine.)

Samothes can hear the storm rumbling from behind the dip of the horizon well before it arrives, rolling slowly into the harbor like a great, lumbering beast. He pulls his kitchen window closed just as the rain begins to fall, a few droplets landing on his hands, already rough and tired from a long day of work. He watches as the clouds rapidly sweep in overhead, blanketing his little cottage on a cliff by the sea in darkness. The harbor waters below quiver in anticipation, waves already lapping up onto the docks, rocking his fishing boat back and forth.

"Can you feel that?" asks Samol from the kitchen table where he gently nurses a glass of  _something_ \- he had produced it from deep within his bag and Samothes hadn't asked. Samol regards his son with an amused glint in his dark eyes.

"The storm?" replies Samothes. "Of course."

Samol licks his lips. "I can taste it. Tastes big. Something's coming."

Samothes resists the urge to fall back on teenage habits and roll his eyes at the strange comments that his father often produces. Instead, he returns to his chair, stealing his Samol's glass and giving it a sip. It tastes of churning, twisting waters, deep and salty like the darkening ocean outside. Samothes pushes the glass back toward Samol, but the older man raises his hand.

"Ah no need," Samol says as he stands, both bones and chair creaking. "I have the feeling you'll be needing it tonight."

"You're leaving?" Samothes asks, ignoring Samol's cryptic remarks. He's long since given up on feeling irritated that his father seems to know things he doesn't.

"Yes," Samol winks. "I have someone waiting for me at the tavern, after all."

"That's..." Samothes sighs. "You don't always have to tell me these things. Sometimes it's better to not know."

Samol laughs, deep with fondness for his son, but also for teasing his son. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Samothes grumbles as he helps his father to the door. Outside, the wind has already picked up, racing against the wooden slats of the front porch and rattling the iron gate that leads to the garden. Rain splatters against the stone pathway, just audible despite the sudden crackling of thunder above. Samothes frowns, quickly stepping back inside the house to grab an umbrella to push into Samol's hands.

Samol regards the object as though it offends him, before bursting out in laughter, handing it back. Samothes sighs.

"Be safe, old man," he tells Samol.

"Have a good evening, young man," Samol replies. "Light a fire, read a book, maybe even sleep in tomorrow. The rest of the world won't mind if you take a day off."

Suddenly, Samol leans in close, whispering into his son's ear, "Remember, don't turn down opportunity when it knocks." Then he turns, sauntering down the pathway back to town.

Samothes finally does roll his eyes, then returns back inside to light a fire.

~*~

Despite his best efforts, Samothes falls asleep in front of the fireplace, draped across the couch with a blanket and book resting on top of his stomach. He drifts off to the howl of the wind, the crash of waves against the cliff, dreaming of a voice calling his name, insistent like the pull of the tide.

Samothes isn't sure what time it is when he jolts awake from a sound that isn't the storm. The fire is nothing but a smoldering pile of embers and ash, and the sky outside is a calm, pitch-black void.

There is a knock at his door - impatient, demanding, as if someone is waiting on him. Samothes grimaces into the dark, but slowly lifts himself off the couch.

As if they can sense he's awake, the stranger knocks again, although now it's more akin to pounding. Increasingly becoming more and more annoyed, Samothes wrenches the door open, ready to glare angrily and tell off this person bothering him in the middle of the night-

Yet as soon as Samothes sees the figure before him, all complaints die on his lips.

On his doorstep stands a young man with long, blond hair that cascades down his pale form, framing a delicate face with eyes the color of lilacs. He wears a long, pure white fur coat that covers everything except his neck and hands. Somehow, he is illuminated by the moon - a spotlight against the dark, silent night for someone who Samothes, as he takes in the sight before him, is increasingly certain is not actually _someone_ , but rather _something_.

No human is that beautiful. It takes a lot to sway Samothes, who even the ocean cannot move, but the sight before him makes him slightly weak in the knees.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" says the stranger. His voice is silken, but commanding, and it's then that Samothes realizes he's being glared at.

As he steps aside wordlessly, the visitor quickly bustles past him into the house without even a glance. The coat brushes against Samothes legs and he shivers - it's incredibly, impossibly soft.

He takes a moment to inhale slowly, peering out into the calm after the storm, as if it will grant him any answers. When it does not, he closes the door shut.

The stranger stands in the living room, hands on his hips, watching Samothes. Samothes awkwardly steps past him to relight the fire. When the flames are blazing once again, he asks, "Who are you?"

He hears a sigh behind him, and then, "My name is Samot."

Samothes turns. Samot is curled up in his armchair, still glaring. His coat has parted to reveal a long, bare leg. Samothes swallows.

"Okay...Samot. Is there...can I help you with something?"

"You've ruined my coat," Samot says, eyes suddenly flashing. Samothes shivers again.

"I'm sorry? I don't understand what you-"

Samot snorts, cutting him off. "You fishermen and your _contraptions_. Only thinking of yourselves, sparing no thought for those of us who have to deal with the abominations you put in the water." He pushes back his hair from his eyes with a deceptively thin hand - Samothes suspects there's strength in more than just Samot's words.

"I got caught in the storm and it pushed me against one of your...inventions," Samot continues. "It tore my coat and now I can't shift back."

Samot moves the folds of his coat, showing Samothes a large red gash in the fabric. Samothes winces.

"Since you're so good at building things, it's only right that you fix it." Samot leans foward. "If you don't...well, you don't want to experience the wrath of a selkie, I promise you."

Samothes is quiet, thinking of how to tell Samot he's barely a decent tailor. Instead, images of folktales told to him as a child flash through his mind, and what comes out of his mouth is, "You're really a selkie?"

Samot stares at him, unamused. He gestures toward himself as if to say _isn't it obvious, you absolute fool of a fisherman?_

Samothes regrets building that fishing trap.

"I'm not very good at mending," he begins gingerly. "But I know an excellent tailor in town. I can take your coat to her first thing in the morning."

Samot continues to stare.

"If you want your coat to be mended properly, I suggest that I'm not the one who does the actual mending. Adaire is very good at what she does."

Samothes sniffs, then sighs primly. "Fine," he says, "But as long as it's done right...and I'm not leaving until it is."

Suddenly, the selkie stands, stepping out of his coat in one swift movement. Before Samothes can say anything, Samot has draped the coat over the armchair and is standing before him - very, very naked.

Samothes inhales sharply, immediately dropping his gaze to the floor, but not before he sees that beautiful is an understatement to describe Samot.

"There's clothes...upstairs," he grinds out.

"Wonderful," replies Samot, barely concealing a laugh. "Goodnight then, Samothes."

Samothes only wrenches his eyes away from the floor once he hears Samot enter the bedroom upstairs. He glances at the selkie's coat and raises his arm out to touch it, but changes his mind at the last second.

Instead, he wanders over to the kitchen, grabbing Samol's drink from earlier. He downs the rest of it in one gulp.


End file.
